


...I Always Win?

by 3988Akasha



Series: Chicago [14]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 20:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19875490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha
Summary: Things become more complicated for the Monroe Republic as Miles tracks down the pendants. Things on the southern boarder get messy, and Miles makes sure to get some alone time with Bass.





	...I Always Win?

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently when I need to be writing for school, my muse gives me motivation for this.

“I’m going to kill her slowly.”

Bass moved closer to the desk. Miles jaw twitched as he looked at the paper in front of him. With Rachel working on the amplifier under the keen watch of Strausser, they’d been focusing on hunting down the pendants before any of the other areas began to connect the dots. Bass knew he’d been less that subtle in his attempts to find both Miles and the pendants, and hoped the other areas believed finding Miles was connected to the pendant, and the belief that if they didn’t, Miles would fix it. 

“Slowly?”

Miles rolled his eyes. “400 men dead, Bass. Slowly seems appropriate.”

Bass took the note Miles handed to him, and felt his eyes grow wide as he read through. She’d been after them for years, and with her Plains Nation alliance she felt she had the upper hand. Based on the results, she did have the advantage. He knew she was pressing it now because with Miles back her options and timeline were limited. 

“I want Faber in here now.”

With an eye roll of his own, Bass went to the door to pass on the order. Alec came rushing in, nearly catching him in the face with the door. 

“Alec?”

“Sorry!”

Bass chuckled. “Alec, please come in. Can I pour you a drink?”

Alec looked down. “I know, knocking.”

Miles moved around the desk to pour drinks. “You look like you could use this.”

Alec nodded before taking a long drink.

Bass sipped at his own, watching the way Miles and Alec moved around each other. He wanted to ask questions, to demand answers, but Miles seemed content to just sit and drink. Alec’s shoulders dropped a bit as he sat there, the frantic look in his eyes began to bleed into a more controlled look. 

“You need to come to Dover.” 

“Danny?”

“He’s fine. Everyone’s fine. We found the pendant.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. Alec returned the look with the lift of a single brow. For long moments they stared at each other before Alex broke, his lips lifting into a grin. He pulled a pendant from his pocket.

“I wouldn’t come back empty handed.”

“Thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” 

Bass snorted. He smirked when both men turned to look at him expectantly. He threw his hands up, palms out. Miles took the pendant from Alec, and Bass couldn’t get over the way he looked at it - half puzzled, half annoyed. He just knew a not so small part of Miles wanted nothing more than to pound them all into ash; someday he might. 

“Dover, huh?”

“Dover.” 

“Rachel was telling us the truth.”

“You thought she’d lie?” 

Miles grimaced. “Yeah. She always leaves something out, plays it close to the chest. Never play that woman in poker; you’ll loose.” 

Alec took a long drink from his glass. “It’s a good thing you taught me to play chess then, isn’t it.” 

Bass went to the door and sent the guard off for John and Jeremy. “They’ll be here soon.”

“You have business, I’ll get the wagons ready for your trip.”

Miles shook his head. “Stay. You need to hear this.”

Bass shared a look with Alex, but before they could question him further there was a knock at the door.

“Sir?” John greeted as he walked into the room. Jeremy said nothing as he trailed in closing the door behind him.

Miles stood behind his desk, making eye contact briefly with Jeremy who moved over and poured himself a drink from the sideboard. 

“How are things at the border, John?” Miles asked.

“Sir?”

Bass watched John try to hold Miles’ gaze, watched when he couldn’t withstand the weight of it anymore. Few people could stand under Miles’ gaze - most of them were other Mathesons. When they were younger, Bass would keep silent bets with himself about which Matheson would break first. One night in high school, they’d been sitting in the den watching Texas play Wake Forest in the second round when Ben came into the room and snatched the remote out of Miles’ hand. They’d tumbled to the floor, the channel changing erratically as they rolled around trying to pin each other to the ground. Miles jumped up, remote in his hand, seconds before Ben. They stood six inches from each other and just stared. No one watched any TV that night, but as Miles would tell it, he won. Bass wasn’t sure if it counted, but he’d never say that out loud. 

“The bitch from Georgia sent us a little note,” Bass began. “She is under the impression that she controls the border. Now, I know she can’t because you’re in charge of that, aren’t you, Colonel Faber?”

“We have experienced some...setbacks, sir.”

“You sound like Tom when he’s trying to  _ handle _ me.” 

Bass glared at Jeremy as he choked on his drink failing to stifle a laugh. 

“If you lose any more ground, I’ll find someone who remembers how to win battles, John,” Miles said. 

John swallowed audibly. “Understood, sir.”

“Get out.”

Jeremy began a slow clap, a small smile teasing his lips. “As amusing as that was, and Miles, truly, you’re a master, I don’t think that’s why you pulled me in - it’s not my birthday.” 

“Alec here just told me we need to go to Dover. He found a pendant, which he brought, and something else, something he’s keeping to himself.”

“It’s a surprise for when you return. Don’t worry, Jim’s still there with Danny. Besides, I left a present for you in Dover. You’ll need to bring a wagon,” Alec paused. “Or two. Two would be better.”

“You’ll be in charge while we’re gone,” Miles rubbed his forehead. “Don’t do anything.”

Jeremy laughed.

Miles turned to face Alec. “You’re staying, too.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Jeremy grumbled.

“Yes you do.” Miles and Bass chorused. 

“We need multiple eyes here that we can trust. We have Rachel working on the pendants, and with only Charlie here, that’s delicate at best. Someone has to make sure Strausser doesn’t accidentally kill her. We have Faber losing more than we’re comfortable with, and Tom is in Noblesville fixing our setback with the train. There are a lot of moving pieces we need to keep control of, and that takes more than one person,” Bass explained. 

“Faber’s a problem. Alec, I need you to look into that. Dig deep. Find anything, everything on him, his family. He’s a good soldier, too good for the shitstorm he’s created on the border.”

“Yeah, okay. Neville should be back by the time you’re back from your trip. We’ll have something for you by then.”

“You haven’t told me why we didn’t wait for first light to leave. You also haven’t told me how you convinced Jeremy to let us make this little field trip alone,” Bass remarked as they unhooked the horses from the wagons. 

Miles smiled at him; Bass shook his head. He watched as Miles moved one of the wagons over to a copse of trees, and carefully arranged it so that it was nearly out of view. He stroked the horses’ neck absently, chuckling as it nosed at his pockets for treats. 

“We have a couple of hours until full dark,” Miles announced as he walked back to where Bass stood.

“We can keep moving. Make camp somewhere else.”

Miles shook his head. Bass caught his gaze, working on reading the expression on his face. Then Miles held out a hand. Bass stood there, momentarily struck stupid, while Miles silently laughed at him. 

“Come here, Bass.”

He knew that tone, felt it slide along his spine and settle, warm and full of anticipation. Miles pulled him in, lips blazing a trail across his finger tips, around the bones of his wrist, before lingering on his palm. With an indrawn hiss, Bass felt himself sway closer as Miles bit down lightly on the base of his thumb. 

“Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve been utterly alone?” Miles whispered against his ear before using his tongue to tease along the shell. 

Bass wanted to say something, to respond, but his words came out as a pitiful groan, which Miles answered with a dark chuckle. As Miles continued his assault on Bass’ neck, Bass dug his fingers into Miles’ arms, desperate for something to ground him.

“I want you spread out under me without worrying about someone interrupting us. Anyone comes to us here, I’ll shoot them.” 

Bass smiled. Miles kissed with his whole being which made each kiss, the smallest brush of lips to the most devouring kiss that stole his breath, utterly devastating. Now was no exception. Miles maneuvered him over to the wagon, and arranged him to his liking. Bass would have laughed if Miles’ lips left his long enough to do anything other than suck in as much air as possible. Warmth spread through his limbs as Miles fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt and impatiently shoved it aside. If Bass had any control of his limbs, he would have removed his shirt all together, but Miles kept his arms pinned flat to the nest of blankets Miles arranged on the wagon. 

Miles surveyed him like a map before launching a campaign. Bass could see him thinking through each step, discarding ideas he didn't like, replacing them with a different course of action. The scrutiny, the rapt attention was enough to overwhelm him, making him feel worshiped, adored, coveted. Sometimes Bass pondered their relationship, the dynamic that only seemed to work for them, with rules only they knew, understood. Did Tom spend his time devising schemes to get Julia alone? Did they provoke each other to fight just to get naked faster, have the adrenaline running more quickly through their veins? Before the blackout, Bass would see how far he could push, how many small pokes Miles would tolerate before he lost control. He smiled as he remembered the feel, the shape, the color of the bruises Miles left on his hips that lingered for days. 

Cool air caressed his skin as Miles continued to kiss his way down Bass’ body. After all the years they’d spent together, Miles was an expert in taking Bass apart, shattering him before carefully putting him back together, making him whole again. When Miles pressed a wet kiss into the hollow of Bass’ hip, he hissed in a breath while struggling to maintain his grip on sanity, on the feel of the blankets beneath his fingers. Not the coarse feel of stiff wool blankets, standard issue for the men, but soft fabric that slid against his now overly-sensitive skin like silk. 

“You have too many clothes on.” Bass heard the pout in his own voice, but when he’d reached up to hold Miles closer to his body, he’d expected smooth expanse of his skin, not the course feel of his shirt. 

When Miles growled against his skin, Bass felt it all the way to his toes, but Miles removed his shirt before moving back up, lips locking around one of Bass’ nipples. Bass moved his hands around the expanse of Miles’ back, tracing the contours of his spine. He recalled another night when they’d been blissfully alone, no parents, no nosey siblings, and Bass attempted to get Miles to focus on their biology homework. Of course, Miles claimed he was quite focused - of course Miles’ lips were wrapped around Bass’ dick, so his argument that it wasn’t the same was weak at best. Still, he did try to teach Miles the vertebrae, forcing him to only focus on one at a time, and then the names of the muscles in his back. By that point in the evening, Miles had Bass face first on the mattress, and his dick shoved as deep as it could go. When they’d gotten the test back, Miles had winked at Bass, who blushed; they hadn’t passed. 

Bass had a split second to feel the cooler air on his dick before Miles engulfed him. Only the hand pressed firmly against Bass’ chest kept him from jackknifing off the nest of blankets. Bass could feel the smug grin on Miles’ face. He punished his cocky behavior by sinking his fingers into Miles’ hair and hanging on for dear life. He hoped Miles learned his lesson. The wet sucking sounds echoed obscenely in the still night. 

“Yes, fuck, Miles,” Bass panted out, fingers scraping along his scalp. 

Miles hummed, one hand trailing back up Bass’ torso teasingly flicking his nipples. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Bass wanted. Plain and simple. Fingers, sticky with oil, prodded at his entrance, and Bass spread his legs further, too far gone to even pretend he wouldn't beg for it. Miles pressed kisses along his inner thigh as he wiggled one finger inside. 

“So damn tight,” Miles grit out. 

When Miles’ voice sounded like rocks had replaced his vocal cords, Bass knew he was in for a good night, and a limp in the morning. His pulse raced.

“Love seeing you like this,” Miles continued to pour filth from his lips. “Spread out beneath me, ready to accept anything I give you.” 

Bass nodded senseless as Miles pressed another finger inside his hole, his body slow to accept it, as though he could prolong the exquisite feeling of Miles breaking him apart. Something must have shown on his face because Miles captured his lips, all teeth and need, voice harsh against his ear. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” 

When the third finger joined the first two, Bass wanted to be embarrassed by the high needy noise that tore from his lips, but it was swallowed by Miles’ lips before he could. Almost lazily, Miles thrust his fingers in, wiggled them experimentally as though they’d never done this before. The light pressure teased his prostate, but didn’t give him the relief he wanted, needed.

“You fucking bastard.”

Miles chuckled low, lips against his ear. “You say the sweetest things.” 

Before he could give some witty retort, Miles’ lips covered the head of his cock, and pressed down on his prostate. Sensations crashed over Bass as he shouted Miles’ name to the wind, shaking with small tremors as he came down from one hell of an orgasm. Blinking his eyes open slowly, Bass saw a soft look in Miles’ eyes, a stark contrast to the filthy grin on his come covered face. 

“I’m going to fuck you. And you're going to take it until I’m done with you.” 

Bass swallowed, the noise felt louder in the silence than it probably was. He felt his ass clench in anticipation, and knew he’d be missing the smooth ride of Miles’ old Challenger tomorrow when they rode to Dover. Then he felt Miles slide in, balls snug against his ass, and he stopped thinking about anything other than the exquisite way Miles felt. Their moans echoed through the night as Miles worked in long, smooth strokes. 

“Kiss me.”

Miles acquiesced and leaned forward, pushing his cock that little bit further, and captured Bass’ lips in a deep, oxygen-depriving kiss. He slid his fingers into Miles’ hair, absently thinking it needed a bit of a trim as the locks began to curl a bit around his fingers. The silky texture melted into the sea of sensation Bass felt as Miles’ sweat slicked skin slid along his own, the wet sound of their more intimate connection chorused with the sound of their lips meeting, dancing away and meeting again. He’d missed this. Not just the time apart, which Bass spent a good deal of his time actively avoiding thinking about, shoving back the fear that it would happen again, the Miles could once more slip through his fingers. He missed having Miles all to himself. Even in the early days when things had been unsteady, they’d found ways to sneak off together for a night. Once the Republic became the Republic, they stole moments, nights, hours with each other, knowing at any moment something could interrupt them. The burdens of leadership would crash through their peaceful little world, reminding them that there was something else beyond their bedroom door. 

Miles’ thrusts became erratic, and Bass felt his own orgasm building as they both began to move with a renewed energy. His grip on Miles’ hair tightened, and he felt Miles’ lips dance along the over sensitive skin of his neck, tasting the skin as he went. It crashed over him in a tidal wave. His ass squeezed Miles so tightly he couldn't be sure the strangled sound coming from Miles’ lips wasn’t half pain. Slowly, he trailed his fingers through Miles’ hair, traced the tendons on Miles’ neck with gentle fingers. He wiggled a bit when Miles slipped from him, then gathered him close, tucking Miles’ head up under his chin. Miles’ fingers smoothed down his side, the rough calluses sparking teasing aftershocks through his body. 

Bass watched as Miles pushed himself up, stared into his eyes, trying to read the emotion blazing out of them. 

“I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said those words, but it felt like it. Felt like a gut punch so strong it left him gasping for air. The words hung heavily, powerful, in the space between them. Bass, for once, had no words, nothing but a white noise in his mind as his heart swelled with the same emotion. 

Bass placed his hands on either side of Miles’ face and crashed their lips together.

Danny greeted them as they approached a house nearly overrun by the foliage around it. Bass noted a fading bruise high on Danny’s cheek, and smiled knowingly as Miles tilted his face left and right before even returning the hello.

“What the hell happened?”

“He had a weapon no one had seen before. Caught us off guard. He won’t be doing it again,” Danny answered, a dark look lingered in his eye.

Miles nodded. Alec hadn’t told any of them what else they'd found, but he should have guessed it would be weapons. He followed the Matheson’s into the house, down into a basement that might at one point have been a wine cellar. 

A low whistle escaped his lips as he took in the weapons littering the walls, shelves, and worktables. Miles grinned like it was Christmas and he went around admiring the hardware. It’d been so many years since any of this stuff had been usable that Bass didn’t quite know what to think. Immediately he remembered his little arsenal, and wondered if he’d gotten around to showing Miles. This cache of weapons would be a nice addition to his collection. Miles would have everything he needed to wage war on everyone. He knew it was Miles’ plan, and with a power source, he knew Miles needed to have control of it. 

“That bitch won’t know what hit her.”

Danny glanced at Bass, a question clear on his face.

“We’ve been having some border issues with Georgia. Foster has it out for us.”

Danny nodded. “It’s personal.” 

“Miles has a unique way of making friends.”

Miles and Danny both snorted at that. 

“With these,” Miles gestured to the weapons literally everywhere in the basement, “I don't need to make friends.” 

“If you start quoting  _ Scarface _ you’re sleeping on the couch.” 

Miles laughed, and Danny looked confused. He knew Jeremy was trying to get Danny up to date on pre-blackout pop culture references so that he would have an accomplice in pissing of Miles with them. Maybe he’d help out a bit. 

“Who owns the house? Who had the pendant?” Miles asked.

“Some guy named John Sandborne, skittish sort of mousey guy. Captain Penner took him back to Philly for Jeremy and Captain Neville to start working on him for intel. He figured you’d want to see this place for yourself, he called it Disneyland.”

Miles nodded. Bass could see his brain working through the room, cataloguing everything, taking note of anything that seemed important, and based on how Miles’ head was moving slowly around the room, everything seemed important. 

“Have the men start loading everything in crates. We brought some blankets and canned food to make it seem like we’re not transporting a shit ton of weapons. The last thing we need is attention.” 

Danny nodded and ran out to start giving orders to the men who remained behind. Bass followed Miles outside.

“I don’t like it,” Jim spoke for the first time since they’d arrived

Bass waited. 

“The house, out here in the middle of nowhere, no sign of how he would provide for himself. No provisions of food or water. Just weapons. And that was a workshop, not just a storage facility.”

Miles nodded. “I agree. I need to know who he’s working for, who else knows about the power. Nothing about this feels right.” 

A few hours later, everything was loaded into the wagons. Not just the weapons, but anything from the house that could be useful. Mostly some miscellaneous pots and pans, linens, some clothes. Some of the stuff the men had brought up from the cellar didn’t seem like much of anything, but his speciality hadn’t been weapons design. He’d have to take Miles back out to the R&D site, and show him all the progress they’d made during Miles’ vacation. 

“We’re going to split up. Half and half with each wagon, and stagger our departure. No need to arouse suspicion with any of the rebels who are probably in the area, or anyone who might have been working with our little recluse here. Jim, you go with Bass. Danny you’re with me,” Miles announced as he watched his orders carried out. With how turned on he was watching Miles be, well, Miles, it was almost like Miles hadn’t spent the night before pounding his ass and sucking his dick like a vacuum. 

Bass caught Miles’ eye. “We should camp at Wilmington, then go straight on to Willow Grove. I’ve got some stuff you should see.” 

Before Miles left, the R&D facility had been Bass’ pet project. It wasn’t something Miles objected to, but he didn’t have the same fascination with it, and given what Bass knew now, understood why Miles kept his distance from it. Like the train, Bass knew he’d get something working, knew that power would return to the world. He had no idea those tiny little pendants held the key or how deeply entrenched in the fallout Ben Matheson had been, but he’d always known Ben was involved. Miles didn’t want to believe that of his blood, and Bass didn’t want to be right because it would spare him the pain of knowing the truth. He didn’t like how many new, unknown players were on the board now. The way things were stacking up felt a bit too much like their first tour when they both knew they weren’t prepared for whatever it was they were going to face, but knew they didn’t have a choice so they’d figure it out as they went along. Miles always thought the second tour was worse, and maybe it was. But for Bass, the unknown, the things beyond what Miles could control always scared him more. Perhaps he’d been too conditioned to expect Miles to save him from everything, to fight the world. Not that he’d ever ask, or ever would. But, ever since kindergarten Miles had been at his side fighting battles he had no business sticking his nose in because he'd determined in his damn stubborn five year old heart that Bass was his responsibility. 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so let me know what you see.


End file.
